


The Fence

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28160487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: A tandem mission brings dire calamity to Garrison and his men, one that would also bring back bitter memories of a past mission for a fellow team leader.   With wounded men, one perhaps dead, is there a way out?  Major Borders, in command of the mission, claims he has a perfectly simple solution to their problem.  How simple is simple?
Kudos: 3





	The Fence

Two teams, a joint operation. Oh, they were to be handling different parts of it, perhaps not even being in contact during the operation if everything went right, but still, it would take both teams to pull this off. 

Major Borders wasn't all that happy with the two teams that were picked, but even he had to admit they did have, between them, the skills that would be required. Still, he'd protested, and his protests had been taken under consideration, but then discarded. Personal preferences surely had to take second place to the best fit for the job at hand. As far as Colonel Rossiter was concerned, Major Borders had far too MANY 'personal preferences', especially during the trials of war.

"Major, you need operatives with a wide set of skills, including some rather uncommon ones. Sending you out with two units of regular soldiers, even a pair of the more conventional teams, might suit your sensibilities, but will hardly aid in getting the job done," Colonel Rossiter explained with some barely-hidden impatience.

Yes, Rossiter understood Borders not enjoying spending time with Garrison's convict team, OR with Micah Davis and his men. They certainly were not the type of men to enthrall Major Borders, neither team leaders or their men being his social equals or those who would defer to his 'innate superiority'. Still, this wasn't a social visit, it was a job of war, and he really thought Borders should pull it in and get with the program.

Still, Borders complained - "Garrison's men - convicts, each and every one of them! And one of them an Indian, of all things! Untrustworthy at best, in my opinion, and the list of 'worse' is as long as my arm! The others, a con man who puts on airs, a pickpocket, a mobster! And that idiotic name someone gave them, 'Garrison's GORILLA'S'! Makes them think far too highly of themselves, as if it makes them special, instead of the uncouth apes they truly are!

"Of course, Davis is just as much of an ape! Transferred over to SF after some incident that, while I have few details, seems hardly to speak to his credit! Insubordination and a great deal more, the way I heard it! Well, wasn't like he'd be welcome in a regular unit for long! Now he's a team leader, through some misbegotten quirk of fate, and he thinks he's as good as anyone else. All is forgiven and he can just do whatever he wants, and all that. 

"He's rude, insubordinate, accepts far too much familiarity from the men on his team, and some of them are almost as rough as Garrison's crew. Suppose that makes sense - Australian, you know - Davis, him and one or two more in his unit. Along with that one linked to that charge of insubordination - disgusting! The other, he wasn't even white, if you can believe. Didn't know we even accepted that sort. Still, as I said, with Davis being Australian, perhaps you can expect nothing better; you know THAT history, of course. Well, of course you do! They started out here, didn't they, before your country found a way to get rid of a few of the undesirables. Oh, now - some likely enough, I suppose, in some capacity, lower ranks anyway. But more than a few - well, hardly the sort to make a proper soldier! Why . . ." 

Borders caught that cold shift in Colonel Rossiter's eyes, and stopped before going further. He couldn't be sure of the censure he thought he read there, but considering Rossiter was English, perhaps he had some familial history, some black-sheep who'd ended up in Australia via uncomfortable circumstances himself. No, better not go too far in that direction. It didn't change his opinion; nothing was going to do THAT, but there was no sense in stepping on the wrong toes.

Rossiter was becoming less and less impressed with Major Borders of Boston, Massachusetts, USA, and he hadn't been all that impressed to begin with. Past that pounding headache this interview had initiated, he wondered if he should pull the man, send someone else. He'd have preferred Richards, someone who, suprisingly enough for someone with his reputation for being somewhat straight-laced and proper, seemed to deal well with both Garrison and Davis - indeed, with all of the Special Forces teams, though after somewhat of a rocky start. Unfortunately, Richards was laid up, a bullet having had some success in putting the major on the sidelines for awhile, though not permanently as was the obvious intent; an inch in either direction would have changed that outcome, and not to Richards' benefit.

However, Borders was who was available from the roster, indeed, was insisting on heading this operation, considering it far too important a target to 'risk with someone less experienced'. Though Rossiter took that with a large helping of salt; the man was primarily a desk officer, with some field experience, yes, but not of anything too dire. In any case, the man's self-proclaimed expertise was outshone by his outsized ego, and neither topped experience, not to Rossiter's mind.

Then, when Borders had grudgingly given way on the teams elected, when given the choice of which team to operate from, there was only an incredulous look and a fervent, "well, Davis, of course! As much as I deplore the necessity of dealing with either, I really can NOT imagine working with those others!" 

Colonel Rossiter sighed as he watched the indignant Major Borders leave. Picking up the phone, he made the first of two phone calls. 

"Micah, tag, you're it. Yes, I know we were expecting it, but still, I do feel for you. Perhaps not as much as I would have for Garrison if he'd been the one selected, but with you I believe we have a better chance of getting the fastidious Major Borders back without him filing charges of insubordination. No, I'm not saying you WON'T be, just that if you are your usual voluble if rather incomprehensible self, he just might not understand enough to REALIZE it. That WOULD probably be best."

He listened to the assortment of curses and just generally incomprehensible language that came through the telephone, then snorted in amusement. 

"No, I don't know what any of that meant, but I'm sure you're right. Liz says you usually are - always says you can put your finger right on the heart of the matter when you want to, not that many can understand exactly what that IS. She interprets for me sometimes, but sometimes just laughs and tells me I'm better off not knowing. 

"Delightful woman, your cousin, an admirable wife, I cannot imagine having any better, but somewhat overprotective of my delicate sensibilities. Other than having that pet wallaby of hers running around the hallways, and her blasted kookaburra using my head as a landing post, and I've even grown accustomed to that. At least that's better than what that pair of lorikeets seem to think my head was intended for, and no, no comments needed there, thank you very much. And I'll never quite forgive you for offering to bring her a baby 'croc', dear cousin-in-law, though at least she had the forebearance to turn that offer down. Though, Micah? The next time we have a drink, there are one or two terms I WOULD like a translation for, just between us."

He listened and rubbed his aching forehead as Davis gave dire predictions for how well Borders would handle himself in the field.

"Well, do the best you can with him. And it probably is for the best, your ending up with him. I'm sure, with his attitude, Garrison's crew wouldn't be a good match either. Seemed particularly annoyed at the man they call Chief; got rather nasty about it and doubt he could keep his mouth shut about it long enough to keep from causing trouble. That team seems pretty tight-knit; doubt they'd take it well, Garrison included. Charges of insubordination would probably be the least of it."

This time the exclamation was brief, the tone highly pungent, although again, the meaning not readily-understood, though clearly related to some personal habits supposedly indulged in by Major Borders.

Another laugh, "and THAT one you just HAVE to tell me what it means, Micah! It sounds absolutely deplorable!! And considering Major Borders, probably quite apt!"

The Mansion:  
"And then she comes out with how she can't TRUST me, can't DEPEND on me! Can you believe it? So, yeah, I forgot we had a date, didn't show. So, June gets tired of waiting, decides to go get a drink, walks in and sees me and Marcy over at a table having a few laughs. Not like I was slipping around, taking Marcy out for a drink and some good times; I just forgot I'd told June I'd take her to that same place for a drink that same night. Don't mean she can't trust me, can't DEPEND on me like she was going on about!"

Goniff squinted over at him. "Sure this wasn't Judy, the one w'at got pissy cause you ran short and borrowed a few quid from her to pay the tab that time, and forgot to pay 'er back? Who'd expected you to come by and give her the money when you picked her up to go to that dance like you'd promised? The one who walked in to the dance all on 'er lonesome w'en you didn't show, and braced you when you and Chiefy walked in with them Connery sisters?"

That had been one screeching, ticked off, drink-throwing female, no doubt about it. The only surprising thing to the guys was that she'd ever agreed to go out with Casino again in the first place. Or maybe this WAS a different one. Not that any of them really cared. If Casino couldn't keep his women straight, none of the guys saw why it should be their job.

"Yeah, yeah, that's the one - June, Judy, what the hell, the tall blonde dame with all the curves and that little tattoo on her neck, that one. Hell, I've got things on my mind! No reason to go around saying I can't be trusted, can't be depended on, is there?"

"Hey, Pappy. Ain't she the same one you were supposed to take to some fancy ice cream place . . ." Chief said with a grin. Goniff could get a smile from Chief sometimes, with his carrying-ons, but for a real grin, it usually took Casino and his oblivious take on things.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. So she was kinda pissed at that too. Like I said, I got things on my mind! We were just back from that Madrid job, looking to get sent out again any time. I'm supposed to remember I promised to take her out for ice cream for her birthday? Sides, I thought her birthday was on the 14th, not the 4th; got her and Betty Lou mixed up, maybe, or maybe it was Louise. Hell, a few little slips and suddenly I'm not 'trustworthy', I'm not 'dependable'. Now she won't even pick up the phone! Shit, dames!!"

"Yes, Casino, I must agree. She is being quite unreasonable," Actor consoled him, but with a strange quiver to his mouth. "Just what or who she would consider trustworthy or dependable, if not you, I really cannot imagine!"

Garrison stuck his head in the door. "My office, ten minutes. We've got a job."

They'd known the odds were against them, right from the beginning. While Garrison hadn't come right out and said it, there was an unusually grim look about him when he came back from London with the briefcase, laid out the briefing for them. 

"This Major Borders, does he go with us?" Actor asked with a note of concern in his voice. He'd heard things about that particular officer, enough to know it was hardly a good match.

"No, he's Davis's responsibility. We shouldn't have much contact; he's not a charmer, so I'm not going to argue with the arrangements," Garrison assured them. "If we DO end up rubbing shoulders, keep a cool head, don't let him push you into doing something stupid."

That didn't bode particularly well, of course, but if there was limited contact, it might come out okay.

Or not.

Blowing that chemical plant took more time than they'd planned, but some stray officer full of bluster and bullshit had decided to hold the going-off-duty contingent in place while the new crew came on, along with having the third-shift come in as well - all with the intention of giving some big morale-building speech. 

Unfortunately Garrison didn't know that, not til it went to hell in a handbasket, soldiers billowing out of that small facility like ants out of an anthill. They'd blown the place to smithereens, but on the wild exit, a frantic radio call from what was left of the contingent had them running straight into Major Lutz and his men. Major Lutz wasn't one of the take-no-prisoners sorts; no, he always tried to take prisoners if at all possible. He had all sorts of amusing ways to deal with prisoners, after all. Now he had five new ones at his disposal, for as long as they lasted. Unfortunately, they never lasted long enough to suit him - such a pity!

Davis, busy on his own part of the operation, was still aware of the passing of time, had become increasingly worried about the other group when the promised radio contact failed to materialize. His team had raided the barracks holding those rogue scientists and their records. Unfortunately for the scientists, they'd tried to become soldiers at the last minute; that hadn't worked out well for them, those not being skills learned in one desperate moment. Records had been destroyed, at least the ones Major Borders had deemed unnecessary to take with them. Since that had been the major's only contribution so far, sorting over a stack of folders and their contents, Davis was really starting to wonder why he'd been ordered to drag the wowser along.

Borders had ordered an immediate departure for the rendezvous point, nevermind they'd not heard from Garrison's team, about whether they'd completed their mission, were in the clear. But Davis figured the man didn't know the area or proper navigation well enough to know they were circling around to where Garrison's team should have been, so he pretty well ignored the officer's stream of orders. 

It wasn't til Colly, who'd, at a quiet order from Davis, headed out at a trot to reconnoitre during a supposed rest stop, came back at a dead run to report Garrison and his men had been taken captive, that the officer got wise.

It was not pretty. In the end it took Davis flat out telling the Major what to do with himself, even though that was something anatomically impossible unless the major was triple-jointed, for Borders to realize he was no longer in control of this group. Well, he never had been, not really, but even then he didn't realize THAT.

Going in now, with the sun in their eyes and the guards swarming, would have been suicide. There was nothing to do but wait and watch for their opportunity, knowing the rescue, even if they could pull it off, might be too late for some of the men held captive down below. In particular, for one team member - Chief.

Garrison and his men had been clubbed insensible, and Major Lutz took his time deciding where to start. 

"Decisions, decisions," he smirked at his second in command, that man laughing with anticipation for the fun to begin. Lutz picked his men well, only chosing those who would enjoy the same pleasures as himself. It was much more relaxing, indulging in those pleasures, without the carping or even interfence from some puritanical busybodies.

Finally he nudged Chief in the ribs with the point of one well-polished boot. 

"This one, to begin with. Make sure the others are bound, but keep them where they can see, can enjoy the sight. When he is finished, we'll start with one of the others - that one, I believe," jerking his chin at Casino. "I'd say HIM," nodding at Garrison, "the one who must be their leader from the way he was giving the orders, but the way he is bleeding, he might not last long enough to make it worthwhile." 

When the men regained consciousness, Major Lutz had already begun his amusements, and other than raging, inwardly and out, there wasn't one damned thing they could do about it. Chief was already strung up on the sharp wire fence surrounding the perimeter. That he was still alive was a given, seeing how closely the Major and some of his men were watching, the laughter that erupted as that whip was wielded by one of the soldiers, or the long pole by another, the blows falling harshly across that arched body. But not a sound from their teammate, not a sound.

The grinding and chatter of a radio stopped the entertainment, at least for a short while, and the men of Garrison's team fought their bonds as hard as they could without letting their movements give them away to the guards who, still focused on the prisoner strung against the wire fence, were paying them little or no attention. 

It was Casino who caught that flicker of movement on the far side of the camp, recognized that glimpse of a familiar face, knew help just might be at hand. Whether it would be in time for Chief, that was something else. 

Sweat dripped from Chief's half-clad body, mingling with the dirt and blood, the combination staining the shimmering wire in its path. The man hung motionless, enough it would have taken a very keen observer to know whether he even still drew breath. No sound came from those dry split lips, no moan from his parched throat. 

A vision came to his mind, another place, another time. A place he had once been, though the time long before his birth. Tall poles set deep into the ground, drummers off to the side pounding out a rhythm, in turn stately, then fierce, then slow and solemn. A rhythm that spurred the dancers, their costumes and movements telling the story, explained the sacrifice being asked of the sweating men dancing around the poles, tethered by their bindings, each movement tearing at their bodies. A sacrifice freely given for the sake of the tribe.

Then, as the rhythm changed, those bound being hefted by the rawhide ropes attached through the rings at the top of the poles, the men now left hanging from rawhide thongs, from those poles, from the slits cut in their chest, their blood dripping to the ground below. Each drop was a sacrifice, each moan subdued and swallowed and never being allowed to escape - that was an equal sacrifice. 

They had prepared well for this ordeal, these young men; had gone to it willingly, in many cases secretly, since it was forbidden by those who sought to control their bodies and their minds, sought to erase their very culture.

And when the dance was over, and the bindings loosened, he was on the ground, bloodied, with scars to follow, but proud and undefeated, proud of what he had been able to offer his people - a sacrifice offered, the ordeal endured, a triumph that filled his mind with peace.

The scene faded and Chief pulled his weary eyes open, turning his head slightly to regain his sense of the presence. He wondered where the others were, but they were not within his limited range of vision. Whether they were dead or alive, he didn't even know that much, and his thoughts returned to what he'd just experienced.

{"Never thought I'd go through a Sun Dance. Heard about them aplenty, even though no one was supposed to talk about that, it being part of the old ways. Still, something like that - sacrifice, commitment, challenge - something like that was going to be talked about even if it was against all the rules. Just never thought . . ."}

His mind shifted to another scene, one incongruous to the one before. Children in the school he'd been shuffled off to against his and his grandfather's joint protests. Songs that made no sense to him, stories that told of a past that was not his own, prayers that seemed so utterly foreign to his being. 

At first he'd refused to participate, but his young body rejected the idea of starvation or death by exposure to the harshness of the summer's sun and heat, or the winter's cold and biting winds, and that was the fate of any who proved more stubborn than the black-coats would tolerate. 

So his mouth formed the bitter words, each of them acid to his soul, asking silent forgiveness for each of those small betrayals of who he truly was, was meant to be.

He'd thought he would comply for as long as he had to in order to survive, then erase them, replace them with the other songs and stories and prayers that belonged to him by right of heritage. 

Somehow, though, in those years before he was able to escape and make his own way, they stuck, at least some of them, and even after, though quieter, lurked in the dark shadows of his mind and soul. Oh, they were still bitter and acid, but they were still there. Not as if they applied to him, those songs and stories of protection and safety and value - more a mockery, proclaiming "this is what you would have if you were of the right color, the right people. Listen, learn, and know all that you will never have, for you are unworthy, you and your kind."

One prayer in particular came to mind, one that he, along with the others, had been told was 'a reassuring promise of God's love', though again, not for them, it would seem. He'd never heard it that way anyway, heard it as only one more threat to who he was, a threat that, even in death, all that he was meant to be would be conquered, even his soul stolen away by those who sought to rob him of all that was precious.

How did it go, that prayer he'd heard the children reciting, one he himself had recited with such internal anger? {"If I should die, before I wake . . ."} Yes, that was it.

But that was wrong. The WORDS were wrong, he knew that to the very depths of his being. Wrong. Had always known it, somehow. Now he recited it the way it should be, his words not clearly reaching even the fly that was venturing closer to taste the drying blood on his cheek.

"If I should die, before you wake . . ." he whispered, his eyes searching the ground below, searching for his brothers-in-spirit, searching for the one who was that, but who was meant to be more.

"If I should die, before you wake, know my heart, hear what it would say . . ." he whispered into the shimmering air.

Yes, that was more like it. What did he need to say, what did he need the others to know, to remember, should death undertake him before he could bring himself to say the words? He shook the sweat out of his eyes in frustration, the first movement he'd made in several long minutes. The first part he figured the guys would already know - that he held them close to his heart and his spirit, that they were family as close as any that might have been born to him, that this sacrifice was one he made willingly if it would let them live, give them time to find a way to survive.

The rest? What he burned to let see the light of day, ached to reveal in all its glory? That bond of spirit and soul and heart, a bond he had never sought but that had come to him unaware, though no less precious for that silent approach.

That really didn't matter anymore, did it? What he needed to say, needed Casino to know and understand? Because he'd waited too long, his window of opportunity gone, trapped on the glistening wire that trapped his body.

Blinking at the last rays of sunlight, he wondered how a day so bright and clear could bring such pain, such regret. So much pain his body was becoming numb to it, the cuts even sealing over the longer they were left to drip blood. But no matter the pain in his body, it was the regret that burned the deepest, because that could have been avoided even if the kind attentions from the sadistic leader of this camp hadn't been.

Chief's mind shifted once again, past mingling with the present, aided by his time with his grandfather and with the O'Donnell brothers - his mind drifting. Is he walking that twisting metal construct of a bridge the brothers had introduced him to, or is he once again dancing to the drums telling the story of the Sun Dance? Is it a cool mist surrounding him, or the glare of a desert sun? And the voices, whose were those - the ones holding him anchored - reminding him he is a man - he is strong - he can withstand - he can hold firm til either the end comes or til his brothers release him from his ordeal. 

Each time he has visited the bridge, he has grown stronger; each time his heritage has reached out to him, he has grown stronger. His mind went to what Garrison had once told Goniff, "that which doesn't kill you, makes you stronger." 

Seemingly that was even more true than Chief had realized, for now he found within himself the strength to wait - to calm his heart and mind, to put his ultimate fate in the hands of something, someone else. The cool hand soothing his brow, the gentle lips laying a kiss there, was his reward for that illuminating thought. 

"Aye, brother to my children - also my child from that brotherhood. Wait, knowing that which awaits is your appointed fate. Wait, in courage, in strength - endure. It will be worth your anguish; this I promise you. Your time lies ahead - perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow. But your time of sweet fulfillment will come."

He blinked through sweat-stung eyes, catching a glimpse of fire-colored hair and flowing ribbons of every hue. "Mother Erdu," he whispered in awe, watching a loving if faintly mischievous smile come to her face. 

"And who were you expecting, my child? A white rabbit?" 

And he snorted a painful laugh at that bit of whimsey, then inclined his head in respect and acknowledgement of her words. Wait - endure - yes, he could do that. He WOULD do that! And if what he waited for was not to be in this life, perhaps it would come in the next Turn of the Wheel, or the one thereafter. Erdu would not have lied to him, not promised that which was not to be, though she had not given him more than that promise.

The roar of gunfire brought him back to the fence, the sound of familiar voices yelling, and he tensed, waiting. Whatever his fate, it would seem his brothers were close at hand. Whether he would rejoin them now, or at some far distant future, that was yet to be seen.

Aftermath:

"That why you went back for Chief?" Goniff asked. 

Well, sure, he, the rest of the team had intended to do that, no doubt, even then wriggling out of those tight bonds with the other team's help, though with their wrists bloody with the effort. Getting free, snatching up the guns held out to them. Still, it would have been hard, their chances slim at best, if Davis and his crew weren't willing to help. 

The other team had rushed in, taking out most of the soldiers in one wild burst of gunfire. Micah Davis took grim tally of the situation. He and Boomer and Cully were still upright, still fully capable. So was Major Borders for all the good that was likely to do; the only help HE seemed to be willing to give was to give harsh orders to retreat, anyone who was able, with anyone else to be left behind. That 'anyone able' would probably include only six, perhaps seven of the ten.

Davis's man, Billy, had been the one to come under too-accurate return fire, and was down with a graze to the temple that left him staggering. Garrison had caught a bullet in the side during the initial capture, was barely conscious, would have to be carried when they did make it out, if they made it out. Actor and Casino were pretty much alright still, but Goniff was hobbling like he might fall over any time after that blow to his hip from a guard's rifle butt - well, they'd found out afterwards, even with the hasty first aid Actor had given, the joint was only partially in the socket once the medics could later get a good look. Chief - well, Davis couldn't tell whether the Indian was still alive or not, hanging there on that fence. The sight froze his mind, one image overlaying another, shimmering til he wasn't sure which reality lay before him.

One thing was clear - with or without Chief, no one was getting out without something with wheels, and Borders had made it clear that anyone not able to get out under their own steam just wasn't going. 

The response from the others showed their firm disagreement, Casino raging at Borders, Goniff only one step behind, though no one willing to just nod and accept that grim order to pick up and desert their wounded.

What came next - well, Colonel Rossiter had predicted Borders would run up against insubordination, and he wasn't wrong. Just how far that insubordination would go, even the Colonel could not have predicted.

"We ain't leaving them, none of them," Goniff snarled, while Casino delivered one last bitter pronouncement and then was already making tracks to get closer to that fence and his teammate hanging there. Goniff turned his head to watch Casino's progress, and only Davis was close enough to hear those anguished words from the pickpocket. And it was Davis that Goniff turned to with such desperation, such pleading in his eyes.

Davis took another long look at that fence, the silent figure hanging there, and he nodded, motioning to the men, directing them. Borders tried to interfere, offered what he felt was a better solution, but - well, there it was, that insubordination, if you wanted to call it that. Then Borders was out of the picture, and the men surged to complete that grim rescue and get the holy hell out of there. ALL of them. Well, except for Borders.

Davis finished the rest of his beer, looked at Goniff. "Yeah - what you said, I suppose. About not leaving without Garrison or Billy. About not leaving without Chief, either, not if he was still alive. About how leaving him there, hanging from that bloody fence, about it killing something inside Casino, all of you, not knowing if he was alive or dead. I know something about that. Went through it, I did. Oh, not with the team I'm on, long before. Went through it, felt something inside me die once it was over, too. 

"That bastard Borders - know something about his sort, too. Not gonna cry over him, can tell you that, though HQ is being a little pissy about us losing a ride-along. Well, the bloody ride-along was happy enough about losing Chief and Billy, even Garrison, maybe others, wasn't he, now? YOU doing much crying over him, Goniff?"

Goniff gave an indifferent shrug. There were things, people he might mourn, WOULD mourn; bastards like that didn't begin to make the list.

"They don't want to risk losing their blokes, best not send them out to where things are going to 'ell. That's what I 'eard the lieutenant tell them w'en they asked 'im about w'at 'appened. Course, 'e was a bit more diplomatic about 'ow 'e worded it," he declared casually. Well, Garrison only knew what they'd told him, him still being only half-conscious during all that action, and they'd each been damned careful in that regard.

Davis frowned, running his finger around the rim of the glass, then looked at the man sharing the table and that pitcher of beer. He hesitated, then lowered his voice even more than it had been.

"Just didn't see it before, not til then. Not til I got a good look at Casino's eyes, heard what you said. Heard what HE said, about how he couldn't let Chief down, that "Chief TRUSTS me. He wouldn't leave me behind, not ever - I won't leave him, I can't! He can depend on me; he always can, he KNOWS that!" But, we don't work that much together, our two teams, and seems like they're real careful . . . Well, we were too, Jiem and me, for all the good it did us in the end, not that that figured in to that bastard's reasoning; not like HE'D figured it out."

Goniff snorted, "don't 'ave a clue w'at you're talking about, mate," giving Davis one of his best wide-eyed and clueless looks, getting a skeptical snort in reply. Then with a wry smile, a far more knowing look matching the knowledge showing in Davis' eyes, "tell you the truth, neither do they, not yet. Stubborn as a brick wall, the pair of them."

Davis nodded, understanding now why he hadn't picked up on what he now knew to be the truth. Why would he, when even THEY weren't acknowledging anything between them?

He hadn't really intended to tell the little pickpocket the story, but somehow, he found himself doing just that. For once the words were easy to understand, Davis not lapsing so much into the Australian colloquialisms he was so well known for, not more than Goniff could figure out anyway. Oh, the accent was there; the man couldn't leave that behind if his life depended on it. 

"I wouldn't leave him, argued we could ALL get out. It wouldn't have been easy, would've been some risk, but I still think we could have pulled it off. But I wasn't in charge, Colburn was; he didn't agree. I told him to go if he wanted to, but I wasn't going with him, not without Jiem. I turned to head to the fence, take out the one standing guard, try to get Jiem down. Bloody Colburn smashed a gun over my head, had the others drag me out. Next thing I know, we're miles away. And Jiemba, my 'Laughing Star', was back there, hanging from that bloody fence. 

"By the time I got back, Colburn having enough to deal with the pounding I gave him not to get in my way, he was dead, my Jiem. He hadn't died easy - from the looks of it, they had taken our escape out on him, even more than what had happened before. 

"Colburn pressed charges, I told my side, he told his. The blokes in charge came down on his side. Seems risking five white men for one quarter-caste Aboriginal tracker didn't strike a chord with any of them. Colburn came out fine, I got busted down as many ranks as possible without making me the company cook - disobeying orders, insubordination, striking a superior officer, the usual, you know. 

"Switched over to Special Forces first chance I got; bastards at the top might be the same, but the regular guys, they seem more like those I can trust to have my back if there's trouble. Not all, but a lot. If it'd been one of those teams back then, someone like Garrison and your mates, maybe . . . "

Davis took a long draught from the mug of warm beer, his eyes drifting over the table top like he was seeing images from the past. Maybe he was, from the sad, wistful smile on his face. 

"Shipped out of Sydney, we did, but were going to go further inland when the bloody war was over. There's a place we found once on walkabout, middle of nowhere, small groups of others who didn't much fancy living shoulder to shoulder scattered about, those who didn't see any need for anyone telling them what to do. District officer showed up maybe once every six months or so, stuck his nose over the boundary, nodded G'Day to whoever he might see, and was off again. There was a spot, pretty much in the center; we decided the first time we saw it, put the money down before we left. There was a good source for water, along with a played-out mine, nothing left to dig out, but nice and cool even in the hot seasons, shored up just fine. Figured we could bunk there, store goods there, when need be.

"Jiem had a recipe for a brew that would take your head off if you weren't careful; berries from one of the local plants gave it a punch like you wouldn't believe. Called it 'Wombat Stomper', I did, when I finally got over that hangover from drinking it the first time. Thought it would be a draw, right enough. Oh, not in the cities, not with THEIR lady-like finicky ways, but out there? No one out there looking for little fancy umbrellas, you know.

"See, we weren't looking for fancy either - just a rough pub, a place of our own, a place for those others to drop in, have a drink, play cards, have a good rumble if they were in the mood. But a place where we could make the rules, where those who didn't like it could turn around and shove off, maybe with a boot up their arse if they were too slow about it.

"Have to watch yourself, true enough, out there. Start listing out all the things that could be thinking you were their next meal, it could be a long list, not to mention things willing to take a bite just out of pissiness. 

"The crocs were something to watch out for, no question, though Jiem said if you got one when it was just hatched, it could be friendly enough, at least to the one who raised it. Used to laugh about doing that, we did; any who got too mouthy about me and Jiem, we'd have ourselves a fast way to shut their traps - just give a call to that croc and watch the bloody flog swallow his tongue, you know? Or, if he wouldn't shut his trap, watch our pet croc swallow HIM. 

"Used to laugh, my Jiem, used to quote old Omar, you know, 

'A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,  
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou  
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—  
O, Wilderness were Paradise enow!'

"And then he'd do his own bit, only changing it to,

'A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,  
A Jug of Brew, a Lively Croc—and Thou  
Beside me, singing in the Wilderness—  
O, Wilderness were Paradise enow!'

"Always left that first and last part in, him having a liking for a bit of 'verse' more than not, along with both of us fancying a good song or two. Paradise, that sounded, to the both of us."

There was silence as Davis remembered that deep rich voice that used to join him in song.

"You gonna go back there, after the war?" Goniff asked, though it didn't seem too likely. There had been such a sense of loss, like that pub and all the rest was a long-past dream that Davis had given up on. 

"Don't know there's much sense in it, without Jiem," the burly man admitted. "Though, maybe; still own the land, and it's all mine now he's gone. Sometimes can't much seeing me making it through the war anyroad. Still, Jiem had a sister; I'd like to see her again, let her know Jiem was gone - see if she needs anything. Maybe - maybe. Know I won't want to deal with any bloody officer types again, not like Borders, not like Colbun, not without a croc right there handy-like."

He took another long swig, emptying his glass, then gave Goniff a long look, raising one brow in inquiry.

"And what about you, mate? What about you and . . ." and Goniff was never so happy to see Casino ambling over carrying a new pitcher. If Davis was headed where Goniff thought he was, that was a subject he didn't intend to get into, in a bar or anywhere else, not even with someone he kinda trusted. It was just too ruddy dangerous all around, for Garrison, and on a lot of different levels, him being an officer and all. He wasn't sure how Davis had picked up on that, but he sure as hell wasn't going to be holding a conversation about the matter.

"This one's on us," Casino said, nodding over to where Actor was waiting to be sure they'd be welcomed. That HAD seemed a very private conversation, after all.

With a wave, Davis summoned the tall Italian, motioned for Casino to pull up a chair.

"Garrison doing okay? What about Chief?" he asked.

Billy had been released earlier, but those two were still in hospital, though not the military facility to which they'd been consigned. Somehow, through some mixup in paperwork, they'd ended up elsewhere, a small hospital under friendlier eyes and care; the military still hadn't figured that out, and the way things were set up, probably never would. Worked out better that way, all around.

"The Lieutenant is due to be released to home rest tomorrow. Chief will take a little longer; they are battling the infection and it is proving stubborn."

Casino snorted, "he'll beat it. He's almost as stubborn as the Warden; was giving em plenty of lip about not letting him go tomorrow too. Patrick says he's gonna be sure to keep a close watch, make sure the Indian don't try sneaking out behind their backs. Wish Meghada was here; she'd keep him in line. Hell, she's had plenty of practice with the Limey here. But no one seems to know when she's due back in. And what the hell is she doing in South America, that's what I'd like to know! No one's saying anything about that either."

Actor sighed, "yes, Chief does not seem to trust the Lieutenant to stay off his feet and recover without him there to watch him. He made us both promise we will keep a careful eye in his stead. He said Goniff can not stay awake 24/7 though he will surely try."

Actor still wasn't sure what had happened, there close to the end. It had all gone down so fast, them rejecting Borders' order, intent on reclaiming their team mate before making an exit. 

From what had been said, he thought Borders intended leaving Garrison behind as well, perhaps even Goniff and Billy from Davis' team, from that "we won't make it out carrying anyone; anyone coming's got to be moving all on their own and damned fast too, and without needing any arm to lean on."

Goniff's angry voice had said it all. "We aint just waltzing off and leaving the lieutenant, nor Billy neither! And 'e's one of us, Chief is; we ain't just leaving 'im up there, not knowing if 'e's alive or dead!" and everyone on the team felt the same. 

Border's harsh laugh, his quick response took them all by surprise, that "well, if that's the hangup, I got the bullets for an easy solution, there and elsewhere," lifting his head and shoulders for a better sighting, raising his pistol to take careful aim at that limp figure dangling from the wire. 

Whether he'd intended to include Billy, or Goniff, even Garrison in that 'easy solution', they'd never know, because then came the sound of gunfire, several shots. Actor's had not been the only gun aimed at the man, now a silent figure on the ground. But which men had actually pulled the trigger and hit their mark? Which? Any?

Some of the shots had been from the guards, but not all of those had been rifle shots, some had been from hand weapons. Whose, that the con man did not know, just knew it had been more than one, but had not been him - he had not reacted quickly enough, would have felt the recoil from the gun if it had fired BEFORE he shifted his aim to the guards. 

Then, there was no time for discussion. One fast glance around, a few quick words, and they were organized, Boomer and Colly headed toward where the vehicles were stored, Goniff and Billy, functioning if not particular mobile, providing cover and guarding Garrison. Actor and Davis headed for the fence, joining Casino, taking out all opposition along the way. They strugged and managed to get Chief down, huddled to protect him til transport arrived.

Boomer was almost as good at hot wiring a vehicle as Chief, and they roared away, leaving destruction behind them. Well, that cache of dynamite Casino had stumbled across during the escape helped a lot in that regard, and the men had wielded the sticks with abandon. 

"He going to be alright?" Davis asked as Actor finished his examination of Chief, the unconscious young man being held tightly in place by a scowling Casino. There had been something in the other team leader's eyes, an understanding, a compassion Actor would not have expected from the rough man.

"Borders - did they accept your explanation regarding him?" Actor asked carefully.

Davis gave him a steady look. "Had a long chinwag with Rossiter. Nothing not to accept. Man made the wrong move at the wrong time, came up against the wrong people. Guns blazing away's not the time to stick your thick head up into the firing line, now is it? They don't want their bloody nongin' officers to get their bloody heads blown off, they need to keep the ones like Borders behind a bloody desk, now don't they? Don't worry, she'll be apples."

(He didn't mention that he'd told his cousin-in-law that blokes like Borders were just another good reason for having a handy croc around. While Rossiter empathized, even agreed to some degree, still the man was being stubborn about letting Micah arrange to have Liz sent one. Oh, well, maybe he'd do it anyway; he was sure Liz would be able to talk her husband around; she'd managed with that wallaby, hadn't she?)

No one could really come up with any good argument with that; frankly, they didn't bother to try. Each of them was thinking back to that night, each with the knowledge that they had, or had not, fired their weapons anywhere other than at the so-called enemy. Each wondered, maybe, which it had been for their team mates, for Davis and his crew. 

No one had wasted time taking a tally of the bullet wounds Borders had received, and they would always wonder, but not with any particular concern. And no one figured it was something that needed discussing, especially not in a bar, even one as lenient of the formalities and protocols as Silk's. Would they have been surprised to find there were only rifle wounds in that silent body? Yes. Was that the actuality? Ah, who knows.

A month went by, and Davis was on the verge of leaving Silk's when Garrison's team waltzed in, all except Chief who was still recovering. A drink shared, then the others went their own way, leaving only Davis and Goniff behind, Goniff making some excuse that sounded lame even to his own ears. 

Then came a conversation Goniff had been wondering how to approach since the LAST time he'd talked to the team leader alone.

"Davis, know I asked you before, but you given any more thought to that pub you and your Jiem were going to open up? Seems it would be a good thing, something 'e'd likely be in favor of," Goniff said, nodding encouragingly. "A place in the middle of nowhere, no ruddy officers likely to come waltzing in shoving their weight around."

He refrained from mentioning that baby croc, since he just couldn't bring his mind around to having a crocodile around the place being all that good a notion, for a whole lot of reasons. Oh, maybe when it was still little, but from what he'd seen and heard, they didn't stay little for too long. 

But, what with Meghada and those ruddy sharks her family was so chummy with, he didn't know he had a lot of room to talk. Still, she and the sisters didn't keep them in the back yard, not exactly, like Davis had talked about doing; Goniff just wasn't sure he'd be all that comfortable with that. It had taken him some quick adjusting of his mindset to become comfortable with having a Dragon alongside, though he'd managed that and had no regrets, nary a one. If it came down to it, maybe he COULD get used to a croc, though he'd not rush out to get one to prove the point.

They were the last two at the secluded corner table, Actor having headed off to see Lady Elizabeth, or maybe Lady Clara, or some other elegant someone with 'Lady' before her name. Goniff didn't pay a lot of attention to the names; to him they were as interchangeable as he figured they were to Actor himself. 

Casino had headed off to amuse Chief with a game of cards, this last night in the hospital, having blown off a date with Judy or Joyce or maybe it was Joan - some big blonde, anyway, knowing Casino. Well, as he'd told the others after that one drink, "the Indian's probably bored outta his skull. Can't depend on Patrick or James to keep him occupied; they got other things to do. The broad'll be there next go-round, and if she's not, I'll live."

They'd all head back to the Mansion in the morning, Garrison now claiming he was "just fine!" and ready to get back into action. Goniff wasn't all that sure the man was really ready for much of anything, seeing how carefully he'd taken those stairs before the four men had left the Mansion, how pale and drawn he'd been by the time he reached the bottom. Garrison had been headed for a briefing, the men for a few hours relaxation before picking up Chief from the hospital. No, none of the three figured the officer was back on top of his game, but hadn't argued, knowing how little good it would do.

Goniff brought his mind back to Micah Davis when the Australian started giving him an answer after a long pause, so long the Englishman had wondered if there would BE an answer.

"Been thinking on that, more than a little. Think maybe you're right. His sister, she's got a kid, a boy; no man around, which is good since that one she had was a right waste as far as I could see. Jiem woulda been a big part of their lives, helped raise her kid. Seems he'd like me taking that on, maybe. Her and me always got along just fine; think she'd be good with that. She was around Jiem and me a lot, ya know, never a hard word about it neither, us being together. Yeah, I make it back, think I might head back to that piece of land, get a place open, make a home for the pair of them. Maybe even get us a baby croc. Think Jiem would like that."

Goniff poured the last of the beer into the glasses and nodded in satisfaction. Yeah, he figured Jiem would like that just fine. After all, that's what he'd want Craig to do, if HE didn't make it back sometime - go on with things, make the best life he could. 

Meghada, well, she'd sworn she'd follow Goniff down The Long Road, and while perhaps it was selfish of him, it did give him an odd feeling of comfort, knowing he'd not be alone for whatever came after. He'd had enough of being alone, had kinda gotten used to NOT being.

Craig, well, Craig wasn't up for discussing it, but Goniff had still given his opinion, and he could only hope the man listened. At least, he THOUGHT that was what he wanted, Craig not joining them til later, when the man had had a chance to do lots more with his life, but Goniff did worry about who would keep an eye on the man, try and keep him out of trouble, try to see he took proper care of himself. There weren't so many who could see how much the ruddy man NEEDED that, but maybe - at least, the guys would try, if they made it through, and Meghada's people, but still . . . 

But sometimes Goniff's mind worked on so many layers he wasn't quite sure what he DID think. Sometimes thinking got all mixed up with feeling, then things got complicated beyond what even HE could make sense of.

Still, he wasn't dealing with the three of them, but with Micah Davis, which was something very different, what with Jiem already making his way down that Long Road Meghada and her family talked about.

And he figured the man had earned some Mother Hen type of looking after, maybe a little good advice, after all he'd done to bring Chief and Garrison, maybe even Goniff and Billy, back alive.

"You'll make it back, you'll see. You'll do it all just like 'e'd 'ave wanted. 'E'll be right proud of you, too, looking after 'is sister and the boy and all," he encouraged, pouring out another glass of beer for each of them.

"Maybe. You think those two will ever stop sidestepping each other?" Davis asked, knowing he didn't need to say who he was talking about.

Goniff sighed, "ruddy well 'ope so. Starting to get on my nerves, you know? Keep thinking I need to just lock them in a room somew'ere and keep them there til they figure it out. Course, with Casino being able to pick most any lock there is, and Chief losing patience with 'im and 'is ruddy blinders, doubt it would work as well as it sounds. Probably bash the daylights out of each other rather than use the time to good advantage. Still, might end up trying it someday."

(And while he never did that, not with Casino and Chief, still, the idea stuck in his mind with his catalogue of 'brilliant ideas', and the day did come when he put it into action with two other side-stepping individuals. He found it more than a little gratifying to find it worked every bit as well as he'd thought it would.)

Davis swallowed the last of his beer, pushed back his chair. "You need a ride? Got the jeep outside," he offered.

Goniff shook his head, "thanks, but no. Got someone I gotta see first."

Davis nodded, hesitated, then offered, "the lieutenant. Gonna need all the looking after he can get to make it through - seems if there's trouble, it finds him or he finds it. You and the guys, you got your work cut out for you."

Goniff snorted, picking up the change from the tab he'd just paid. 

"And that's more than the truth! Could get bloodied walking to a church social, the lieutenant!"

Davis nodded in agreement; well, he'd worked with Garrison before, had heard plenty of stories. Still, that wasn't all he wanted to say, was just puzzling out how to say it. Then he knew.

"Not to be a stickybeak, but from what I've seen, you got some talent in that direction too - getting bloodied, I mean. Maybe you ought to strike a bargain, you two; look out for each other, see each other through. Me and Jiem, that's how we worked it, at least til it went all balls-up. "

Goniff stopped fussing with the coins, looked into Davis's knowing eyes, his own none less so, and the faintest of smiles came to his lips.

"Not a bad notion, that. Could work out well enough, I suppose. Everyone could use someone watching 'is back, lending a shoulder at times - someone to depend on. Could be - just could be," he acknowledged, as Davis nodded in return and turned and walked out.

Well, that was what he and Craig, and Meghada as well, had decided on quite a while ago, each of them being there for the other, none of the three ever being alone again. The war might have something to say to that, but as a plan, it had a lot going for it. Though, for his part, as far as animals were concerned, he'd be satisfied enough with the little dog Max, along with his green-eyed cat and his Dragon, of course - just couldn't quite see bringing a croc into the mix.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted stories referenced, at least in some ways, both taking place after the war: 'You Can't Get A Man With A Gun', 'Major Johns and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Journey'.


End file.
